


Heaven Help Us

by Yaraslava_Rada



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: AKA Klaus being traumatized and overly dramatic, Academy travels back to their 13 year old bodies, Anxiety, Choices, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dealing with Ghosts Klaus Hargreeves, Even after meeting God Klaus is still Agnostic, Family Meetings, Freewill, Gen, God is actually pretty cool, Gratutious use of MCR lyrics, Hopeful Ending, Insensitive Luther Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves Whump, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, Klaus is projecting, Klaus is trying not to be clingy but just ends up feeling abandoned, Klaus just snaps, My First AO3 Post, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks, Pottymouth Klaus, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Sober Klaus Hargreeves, Suicidal Klaus Hargreeves, Unreliable Narrator Klaus Hargreeves, We Die Like Ben, don't let the tags fool you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:28:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24448876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yaraslava_Rada/pseuds/Yaraslava_Rada
Summary: They're 13 again and Reginald is still alive and they need to stop the Apocalypse and help Vanya with her powers and keep an eye out for The Commission. But all of this is a little overwhelming for a newly sober #4 who barely scratched the surface of his powers the first time around.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 370





	Heaven Help Us

God doesn’t like Klaus, but only because he could be so much more.

She’s groggy and drained from over-sleeping, who knew creating the entirety of existence would be so exhausting? She’s grouchy and hangry and here comes one little member of her flock, made when she’d first woken up after having slept for so long, and he’s not using the gifts she’d given him to his fullest potential. Worse, he’d been purposefully not fulfilling his Purpose. He’s drowning his abilities in any and every way he can manage, killing himself over and over and over by overdosing and bar fights and being too damaged and easily taken advantage of and-And it’s not actually his fault. The fault lies with the Hargreeves-child, who knew just enough too much to cause damage, who’d adopted and tortured seven of her first consciously-created children since her little baby Jesus (although how conscious of a creation was it really, when she’d been pulled from her slumber so abruptly? That’s beside the point).

He’s one of God’s children, and seeing him waste himself so thoroughly made her want to rethink that whole “free will” thing she’d given all of her creations. Though, again, it’s not really his fault.

She couldn’t help that some of her children had things left unfinished, she never could have imagined life would be more tempting than the paradise of afterlife. At least, for those who were pure and good enough in soul. She couldn’t help that others were so afraid of death that they held on with a fierce, insane determination to not be gone yet. She couldn’t help that they felt there was still more for them to do. She couldn’t help, she couldn’t interfere, she couldn’t do anything but listen to the prayers of her babies, to hear them cry out in anguish, believing all of this was a part of some master plan to help guide them.

In reality, she’d just neglected them, she’d slept past her alarm and now they were burning the house down without her guidance. She thought she’d given them enough to let them grow and flourish for a while, but her rules, the Commandments were now long outdated. They are rules made for toddlers when her children had grown well into their teens. They knew what was right and what was wrong, but most lacked the impulse control to make the right choice, and the absence of visible undeniable punishment for so long left fewer and fewer of them caring.

So yes, she doesn’t like Klaus, but she also doesn’t dislike him. She certainly doesn’t like most of her other children either.

~~T~U~A~~

They have been in the past for three weeks, two days, twelve hours and six minutes.

Klaus knows.

Klaus knows because that is exactly how long he’s been sober.

Sober without Ben’s ghostly (any) form constantly hovering around him.

Sober living back in this house, under his father’s roof.

Sober with his siblings back to ignoring him, “poor junkie Klaus, don’t you know there are better things to worry about then you? Don’t you remember we’re trying to stop the apocalypse? Come on man, get with the bigger picture. Don’t make everything about you, we’re all struggling with being back here. Don’t make this harder than it already is. Can’t you just leave us alone for a moment? Can’t you ever be serious, like for once?”

And, okay, maybe he was back to putting words in his siblings’ mouths, ‘cause they haven’t actually said any of that aloud, except Klaus wasn’t stupid, he could read between the lines.

But here he was: sober, and lonely, and miserable, and jonesing for a fix, and would the ghosts just-

“SHUT UP FOR ONE GODDAMN MINUTE?” Klaus pants, hands over his ears as he sits curled up on his bed, knees to his chest, back to the corner, eyes glaring hotly at the mass of bodies filling the room.

There are a dozen of them, in various states of post-death, and it was such a horror show, blood dripping, and skin peeling, missing body parts and all gazes locked solidly on the only thing besides each other that could see them. Although they were mostly oblivious to each other, only really conscious enough to not take up the same space. And wasn’t that wild, that they were incorporeal and yet still taking up space that nothing else on their plane of existence could occupy, as solid to each other as anything he could touch that they could move through.

It’s always- “Help us. Save us. Someone save us. Klaus, save us. Klaus, help us. Klaus, Klaus, Klaus, KLAUSKLAUSKLAUSKLAUS.” But he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what they want and when he asks it’s- “revenge, to see my sister, my lover, avenge me, tell my mother I love her-“ but they’re all dead, most long dead, and their family isn’t alive anymore and he. Literally. Can. Not. help them in the way that they’re asking. And he doesn’t know what else he could possibly do, so he tries to ignore them except-

Still they come to him drawn like a moth to a flame, and the drugs had made him not care about them, made it harder to hear them, but they were always still there, hovering, threatening that as soon as they were able they would-RENDKILLSCREAMMAKEYOUHELPUS. And so he always stayed high, just as high as he needed to take the edge off, sometimes going too far, but mostly just staying blissed out in the (relative) quiet of a drug-fueled haze.

But he couldn’t do that anymore, because he. Was. Sober. And they need all hands on deck to worry about stopping the Commission and the apocalypse and saving Ben and being better to Vanya and they couldn’t afford for Klaus to continue to be the weak link.

So he’s sober, and he’s alone, but he’s dealing with things just fine. They’re thirteen again and their ‘father’ is still training them, and Five didn’t leave to swan off through time and space, and so they’re changing things, but there’s no real way to know how much, or when the Commission will be back to try and stop them. And he still hasn’t seen Dave. Doesn’t even know if his ghost would even know Klaus because they’re changing things and if they’re in the past, the future hasn’t happened yet, and he’s thirteen and-and-and-

He’s having a panic attack. He can’t breathe and his chest hurts and his eyes water and he’s going to die-

~~T~U~A~~

He doesn’t die.

He wakes up in bed, to Mom knocking gently on his door.

“Come in.” He croaks, voice hoarse from the sobbing, head pounding in time with his heartbeat.

“Klaus, sweetie, it’s time for dinner.”

“Yeah, Mom. I’ll be down in a moment.”

“Alright.” She hesitates, watching him closely. “They’re waiting for you.”

“Aww shit.” He’s up like a B-40 rocket, pulling on his jacket, which he’d abandoned over the back of his desk chair. He stumbles out into the hallway and quietly races down the hall, leaving Grace with her vacant smile at his doorway. He pauses at the door to the dining room to straighten out his clothes and run a hand through his hair, before he steels himself and saunters that last little bit into the room, affecting an air of nonchalance.

There’s no sneaking in, all eyes are already locked on him as his father humms in disapproval. He keeps his head down and makes his way to stand behind his chair. He gets off lucky as his father doesn’t comment, only pulls out his own chair to sit. Once he’s seated they follow suit. There is silence until Grace starts up a record and begins dishing out their dinner.

He’s exhausted, still, even after his impromptu nap. Although a nap after passing out from a panic attack isn’t really all that refreshing. He keeps his eyes glued to his plate, slowly picking at his food, unable to stomach much, what with his insides twisted up in knots. He just knows his father is going to comment at some point and speak of the fucking devil-

“#4.” He demands, Klaus glances up to meet his eyes. The man’s plate is cleaned, and actually most of his siblings have finished already. Reginald says nothing else, fully expecting Klaus to be a mind reader and know what it is he wants answered. Of course, he knows his father well enough that he does in fact know what his father wants to know, and he’s far too drained to want to be his usual uncooperative self.

“My apologies, father. I lost track of time. It won’t happen again.” Which is far better than telling him he’d been napping after passing out in panic, during their designated self-study time.

“Ensure it doesn’t, #4.”

He lets his gaze drift past his siblings on the way back to his plate, he sees them look at each other and eye him with suspicion.

~~T~U~A~~

They’re dismissed from dinner and Klaus attempts to be the first out of the room. Vanya beats him to it, blocking the stairway at some unspoken command from Luther. The others scramble out of the dining room behind him, almost tripping over themselves to not be left behind. Luther places one wide hand on his shoulders, not quite as humongous as he would be in the future (or would he?), but still a solid weight he is unable to shake.

“Family meeting.” He declares, before pushing past him to lead the way up the stairs to his own room.

This leaves Klaus in the middle of his siblings, unable to worm his way out of the group and slip away without notice. He huffs, but expects it to go as all the other ‘family meetings’ have gone, with most of them ignoring him and brushing off his comments. He prepares himself for the low-key heartache it always causes, already slipping into forced-apathy and ready to mask his feelings.

He’s mostly right. They talk about Vanya, and training, and if they’ve seen any signs of the Commission. Just when he thinks they’re winding down and he’ll be able to go back to his room and go to sleep, they pull the metaphorical rug from underneath him.

“What was that, Klaus?” Luther demands, eerily similar to their father, just expecting Klaus to read his mind and know what he’s asking about. Unlike with his father, he doesn’t feel the pressing need to be cooperative

“Hmm?” He asks, eyes drifting up to the brother who is now standing in front of him. They’re all spread out, Allison and Vanya on the bed, Diego by the window, Klaus and Ben sitting on the floor, with Five perched on the desk. And now Luther hovers threateningly over him. “I didn’t say anything?” He asks, playing confused.

“What was that at dinner, Klaus?” Luther clarifies, arms crossing to glare down at him, like the clarification was totally unnecessary and Klaus was just being difficult. Which. Fair, he was, but Luther doesn’t actually know that.

“I didn’t do anything at dinner?” He says, still ‘confused’. And now they all know he’s being purposefully obtuse, but he couldn’t really care less. What with the dead lady standing behind Luther, head and arms poised as though she’s pulling herself from within his brother’s chest, as she screams at him to help her.

“At dinner. Before dinner. Why were you late?” He snaps, already at the end of his patience, which isn’t surprising even though Klaus had kept mostly quiet during the actual ‘meeting’.

“I just lost track of time.” He shrugs, eyes drifting back down, doing his best to ignore the ghostly spittle launching at him, as she continues to scream her lungs out. He has to remind himself that they aren’t solid, he hasn’t made any of them solid since Ben, but Ben’s alive and there’s no need to make any of them solid.

“And you didn’t hear the meal-bell go off?”

“I was listening to music.” He snaps, fed up with the interrogation. They don’t care about him. They’re just paranoid that he’s-

“Are you high right now?”

“What the actual fuck, Luther.” Ben speaks up, jumping to his feet in righteous anger.

“It’s a vaild-“

“It’s a fucking stupid question, so I’m going to ignore it.” Klaus says getting to his own feet.

“What Luther means to say,” Allison says, pushing Luther back and taking his place in front of Klaus. “Is that it’s not like you to almost miss a meal, and we’re worried about you.”

“Well, I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I’m fine.” He grits his teeth, ignoring the ghost moaning in front of the door, as he storms through him and out into the hallway.

“He’s definitely not fine.” He hears Ben whisper causing betrayal to burn through him.

Tears prick at his eyes for the second time today as he storms to his room. He has enough presence of mind to not slam the door behind him, both to keep his father off his back, and to not give them any fuel to their paranoia fire.

“Of course I’m not o-fucking-kay.” He mutters to himself, pulling his headphones and walkman from under his pillow. “Who would be, seventeen years in the past, chock full of wartime PTSD and without access to their goddamn coping mechanism? How many VCs wouldn’t I kill for a Bong Son Bomber right now? Being sober is a drag. Shut up, you hag!” Klaus snorts, “I should write poetry.” Klaus giggles to himself at the thought as the music begins blaring, blocking their screaming from his ears.

~~T~U~A~~

Breakfast the next morning is quiet. They’re having oatmeal and their father’s absent so they could be talking, but they probably did enough of that after he’d left for bed as no one says anything to him or each other.

He scrapes his bowl clean, appetite suddenly ravenous after practically skipping dinner last night. And his stomach isn’t in knots anymore, he’s feeling delightfully apathetic, for real, this morning. They’ve got Civics with Pogo after breakfast and History with mom after that, before they have an hour of self-study before lunch and he’s looking forward to zoning out all morning. After lunch is combat training with Father and then one of them will be dragged off for their “Focused Training”, which is code for a one-on-one torture session with Sir Hargreeves himself.

Mom is suddenly behind him, plopping more oatmeal into his bowl and he startles, heart racing at the unexpectedness of it. His hands twitch for his gun, but he doesn’t have one because he’s back in the future, even though they’re in the past. And he’s thirteen and doesn’t need to be wielding a gun even though their father had made them into weapons without the use of firearms.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better this morning, Klaus.” She says, smile plastered to her face.

“Yeah.” He mutters, ignoring the surprised looks from his siblings. They didn’t know he was feeling sick, because he didn’t tell them, and damn Mom for blowing his lie with such innocence. She meanders off back into the kitchen to work on cleaning up or something.

“You were sick yesterday?” Ben asks quietly, and Klaus knows him well enough to hear the guilt hidden in the tone.

“Yeah. Headache and nausea, we’re pretty sure it was just a cold though.” He mutters, lying to imply Mother had looked him over and decided it was a cold. If he didn’t they’d think it was withdrawals, which it wasn’t, it was a goddamn panic attack, but they didn’t need to know that either.

“We thought…” Luther starts.

“Yeah. I know what you thought.” Klaus snaps, still emotionally drained and oscillating between apathy, anger and hurt, as emotionally unstable as he’d been on drugs.

“We’re sorry, Klaus.” He says, and he must get a glare from someone because he corrects, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s done already, so shut up about it.” Ben looks at him with knowing eyes.

“Klaus…”

“I’m fine, Ben.” He growls, “Stop spilling all my secrets already, I thought some things would be kept in confidence.” Ben flinches and he immediately feels bad, “Said with love.” He covers, but he foregoes the air blown kiss so it falls a little flatter than normal.

“Look, Klaus.” Luther begins and Klaus immediately pushes himself to his feet. The others stay seated, not looking for the confrontation Klaus is itching for. “We are just worried about you. We don’t want you to fall back into-“

“You don’t know a thing about my sins.” Klaus snarls. “So stop trying to tell me what I am and am not doing with my life. I am sober. You don’t have to fucking believe me, but stop pushing my buttons because every time you open your goddam mouth it makes me want to go find a seedy back ally somewhere and shoot up.” His chest heaves, his siblings haven’t looked away since he stood up. Vanya, Allison and Diego look like they want to cry. Luther looks absolutely crushed, Five looks like someone took all his booze (which they had, because they’re thirteen, so maybe he looks more like they told him his calculations were off and that this timeline never had any alcohol to begin with) and Ben just looks sad.

Klaus closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, the ghosts are surprisingly silent in the face of his anger, even though it’s not directed at them, and maybe that’s something he should look into, not getting scared, but scaring them instead. But he’s an empathetic bastard, which is what makes this all so hard. He lets the breath out, drops the tension in his shoulders and consciously relaxes his jaw, before spinning on his heel and making his way to the library where their morning classes are.

~~T~U~A~~

Pogo is not their father.

And neither is Mom.

They don’t mind a bit of off topic chatter, as long as the work gets done.

That being said, there is no chitchat today. Klaus is sure they’d been much more suspicious three weeks ago when they’d first arrived, replacing their actually-thirteen-year-old-selves with their thirty-year-old-selves, but he can see the way Pogo frowns slightly as he talks about economics and government and How The Real World Works.

Mom is blissfully oblivious. Or so her coding makes her seem. She still drifts her hand along his forehead once, halfway through the lesson, checking his temperature, unknowingly backing his lies from breakfast. When she’s sure he’s not still ill, she just brushes it off and continues teaching them about World War I and how things would snowball into causing World War II.

Father is very much their father (an asshole).

He doesn’t question the children’s silence, he demands it, after all.

They’re practicing hand to hand combat, no powers (that can be caught, adapting is, of course, allowed). It’s One verses Two, Three verses Four, Five verses Six, with 'ordinary' Seven jotting down notes as Hargreeves bellows them out.

“Raise your shoulder, #2! Watch your feet, #6! Pay attention, #4!”

He’s sprawled on his back before the words even register. Allison grimaces above him, almost reaching a hand out to help him up, before she remembers they’re training in front of their Father and he will expect Klaus to get himself up off the floor. But Klaus doesn’t want to go back to sparring, he’s sweaty and still exhausted from his outburst this morning and the silence from his siblings has started getting to him-

The alarm goes off to assemble for a mission, saving Klaus from having to get his ass kicked by his sister again. They line up in front of their father, backs straight, gaze forward, awaiting instructions.

“#1. #2. #3. #5. #6. Get ready for the mission. We will debrief on the way over. #4, you have Focused Training today. #7 you’re dismissed.”

Klaus feels like someone has cracked a raw egg down his back. He can feel his siblings gaze on him as he mutters a “yes, father”. Ben looks about ready to release The Horrors on their father, and he can’t help but be warmed up by that fact. He makes eye contact with his favorite sibling and shakes his head with a wry smile.

“It’ll be okay.” He lies, like he hasn’t been lying the entire time they’ve been back to the past. Ben wants to believe him, but he knows some of what Klaus will be going through, ten years as a ghost and you tend to pick up a few things.

“How long will Klaus be training for?” Ben asks their father, trying to stay calm and not seem overly concerned.

“As long as necessary #6.” Which means anywhere from a few hours to a few days, whatever their bastard father decides is enough.

Klaus forces a grin to his lips as they walk up the stairs to the main floor of the house. Ben pulls him into a hug, which he gladly returns. “It’ll be fine.” He repeats, whispering in his brother’s ear, turning to brush his lips against his cheek.

“Find me when he lets you out.” Ben demands, and the ferocity in the statement makes him promise.

“I will.” He steps back, into his father’s clutches. They only have so long to get him to his training room, before his father will have to go and get the others started on their mission. Fortunately for Sir Hargreeves, the cemetery is only a few blocks down the road. Unfortunately for Klaus, they arrive far too quickly.

“Father, please.” The words slip past his lips without his conscious permission. And he immediately knows it’s pointless, detrimental even.

“Until the end of the mission, at least.” He says pushing the trembling boy into the mausoleum and closing the heavy marble doors behind him. Klaus listens, heart beating wildly in his chest, as the chain drags across the stone and the masterlock clicks into place.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, damn, shit.” Klaus mutters, eyes clenched tight. He can feel the space get colder, as more and more manifest around him. They know him here, better than anywhere else.

“Klaus” they cry, “Number Four,” they moan, “help us. Help us!” And their anger and spite and hate crescendos to unimaginable decibels.

~~T~U~A~~

Klaus is bleeding.

His ears are bleeding from the noise, his arms are bleeding from his nails, and his hands are bleeding from the stone. He aches and is sore and he’d tried getting angry right back at them, but it’d only made things way worse. He’s curled up the corner facing the door, hands covering his ears because even though his eardrums were ruptured, he can still hear them screaming his name. His throat is sore from screaming back, he’s sure he’d passed out a few times from lack of oxygen, but the nightmare still hasn’t ended.

God is such a little bitch. He thinks, remembering his near-death (actual death) experience. That Little Girl on a bike without a care in the world. “I hate you, Klaus #4 Hargreeves.” She’d all but said to him. “I couldn’t care less about what happens to you. I just don’t want you here in heaven with me. You don’t deserve to be here. You’re stuck in purgatory, in life.” And what would he say to her now, now that the future hasn’t happened yet and there is no Dave waiting for him in their house with their dreams, because the past hadn’t happened yet either.

Fuuuuuck, but he doesn’t want to be here anymore. He just wants peace and quiet. He wants to stop craving the drugs like he does, his thirteen year old body too young to physically ache from withdrawals, meaning every symptom is purely in his head. He wants his family to stop looking at him with suspicion and worry and disgust. He wants to be healthy and whole and not broken and aching. He wants to give up and give in to everything that is bad for him. He wants to just stop existing.

And right here, right now, what is stopping him from doing that?

His family, that hates him, doesn’t trust or believe him?

His Father, who locks him up with his nightmares instead of protecting him from them?

Dave, who doesn’t even know he exists?

The end of the world, which everyone would be able to deal with without him?

Fuck that. He’s done. He’s out. Things will be fine without him, and hey, maybe he can convince The Little Girl to keep him this time.

His hand finds a fragment of glass from the broken skylight on the floor. It’s with trembling fingers that he brings it to his throat. The ghosts continue screaming in his face, malicious and glad that he’ll soon be joining them, but he knows he doesn’t want to stick around, that he has no unfinished business in this realm, that he’ll move on to that flat colorless world.

The warmth is surprising when it really shouldn’t be, it spills down his chest, warming him from the outside, which is funny because it’s from the inside. He gurgles a laugh at his macabre humor, before slipping eagerly into death’s open arms.

The shard falls from numb fingertips.

~~T~U~A~~

He awakens with a gasp. His hands come to his throat feeling for the incision only to find its absence disturbing. He blinks up at the grey sky, and knows she’s there, waiting for him to come to grips with things.

“Why did you do that?” She asks, truly sounding like a child in her confusion.

“I didn’t want to be there anymore.” He says truthfully. “Anywhere was better than there. Even here.”

“’Even here?’” She mocks cruelly. “Well, I still don’t like you. And I don’t want you here, that hasn’t changed.”

“Why?”

“What?” She asks thrown for a loop.

“Why don’t you like me? Aren’t I your child? Your creation? How can you look at me and say, ‘I brought you into the world and I hate you.’”

“…I never said I hate you. I just don’t like you. There’s a difference.” He can feel her shifting, but couldn’t begin to guess at the emotion behind it.

“Is there? Is there truly? Because from where I’m lying, there isn’t.” He says bringing his hands up to press into his eyes. How can you love something you don’t even like? “Why don’t you like me, then?”

“Because of the way you are.”

“Well, that’s encouraging. ‘I dislike everything that makes you, you.’”

“That’s not true either.” She sighs as he brings himself to a seat. She’s still in that white dress, little hat on her head. The bike is tipped over on its side, discarded like a hunk of junk. He doesn’t get it. She’s saying words and he’s only rephrasing them and she’s acting like he’s changed their meaning entirely.

“Well then?” He asks, looking at her, demanding, as only a child to its parent can.

“I dislike…that you do the things you do. Make the choices you choose to make.”

“My freewill causes you to dislike me?” He laughs, incredulous.

“Yes…and no. I don’t dislike that you are free to make your own choices. I just dislike the choices you make.”

“So. You’re just like Pops and Luther.” He scoffs. “You want to make all my decisions for me, to have me do everything you want me to do, how you want me to do it, when you want me to do it.” He affects her voice “‘Jump, #4!’ ‘How high?’” He replies to himself in a childish imitation of his own.

“No.” She snaps, upset at the comparison to the Hargreeves-child. Her eyes bore into his, impressing the sincerity of her next words, “I want what every good parent wants for their child, Klaus. I want you to be happy and healthy and confident and successful. I want you to use your gift. To make the world a better place. To be content with the way I made you and secure in the knowledge of who you are, in your entirety. Not just the dark parts of yourself you like to show off to protect the parts of you that are soft and vulnerable.”

Klaus is speechless. He’d been prepared for hate and drivel, to be kicked to the curb as quickly as the first time, and instead-instead he had gotten…God’s…unconditional love. She loves him, she just doesn’t like him. He never even knew that was possible. He’d seen the reverse in his father, he’d liked some of his children, but had never once loved any of them. Of course the opposite was possible. His eyes well up with tears as she pulls him into an awkward hug. His body is thirty again, and why did it take him so long to notice that? And she’s in the body of a seven year old, while still trying to be all encompassing in their hug.

~~T~U~A~~

“Why…why do they scream at me all the time?” He asks after she pulls away from him. He can tell she thinks about the words before she says them.

“They want your help. I’ve been asleep for a very long time. My knowledge of what has happened since I’ve been asleep is very...difficult for me to process. It’s like a dream, all smoke and whispers. I never could have imagined people would rather continue on as shades of themselves, rather than resting their souls. That pesky little Freewill again. I’m sorry, that you have to deal with it Klaus.”

“Did you like…pick our powers and stuff?” He asks, hesitant and fragile.

“Not in the way you are thinking. I’m not omniscient, or omnipotent. I don’t plan out every facet of your existence, freewill, remember? The 43’s births were a bit of shock to me too. Perhaps not as much as to the birth-mothers, but I still wasn’t expecting it. I did not sit down and say ‘this is Diego Hargreeves who can throw knives and hold his breath forever.’ Nor did I sit down and say ‘this is Klaus Hargreeves who can see ghosts and use telekinesis.’”

“I can use telekinesis?!” Klaus asks, shocked and delighted.

“Oops.” The Little Girl says flatly. “I spilled the beans.” She doesn’t sound very upset. “But even that’s only the beginning, there is so much to your powers, Klaus. You have the potential to do the most good.”

“How?” He doesn’t believe her.

“All of those spirits you’re tormented by,” She says, making sure he’s following her. “They’re also all my children. They were alive once, and in the way only a mother can, I love them all unconditionally.”

Klaus thinks back to that moment of overwhelming warmth, it still hadn’t left him entirely, and he frankly hopes it never does. This knowledge is priceless, that someone, somewhere, even if it’s only The Little Girl herself, loves him unconditionally, screwups and all. Group Therapy had talked about finding a Higher Power and God’s love, and he’d laughed them all off, but it was real and so much more than he ever pretended to imagine. Damnit, he’s still agnostic but God has a face and a personality and warmth and he’s not Christian, not Muslim, not Hindi, or Buddhist, or Taoist, but She exists and as much as she’s a tart little bitch sometimes, she loves him unconditionally.

To know that she loves every single thing on earth, living and dead, as much as she loves him, well, it’s overwhelming. The sadness she must feel, seeing her children stuck, haunted, tormented by their own choices, freewill and all that…man, he wants to help now (that was probably her plan all along).

“What-what can I do? They always ask for things I can’t give. They want revenge, or to speak with their loved ones, but most of them are so long dead, there isn’t anything I can do to help them. I just-I don’t know what to do.”

“Sometimes children need a little tough love.” Klaus stares at her in confusion before the pieces slowly click into place.

“But…freewill?”

“You have freewill of your own, don’t you? Make your choice. If you can help them, help them. If you can’t help them…do what’s best for them anyway. If you don’t want to help them, then don’t.”

“How would I go about helping them?”

“Hear the sound, as you’re falling down.”

“What the hell is that supposed TO MEAN!?” He asks but he’s falling backwards through the ground. Falling and falling and there’s a sound but it’s indistinct and-

~~T~U~A~~

He awakens with a gasp. His hands come to his throat feeling for the incision only to find its absence disturbing. He blinks up at the grey sky, and knows that--that’s wrong. It’s not grey sky, it’s grey stone, sunlight barely peeking through the broken skylight. He looks down at his hands, covered in dried blood, the glass shard is covered in it and so are the front of his clothes. He scratches numbly at the flaking mess, trying to peel as much from his skin as he can.

He’d just come back from the dead, again. The numbness begins to fade away as the warmth he’d felt in the afterlife leaches out from his heart. God may be short and rude and a brat, but she loves him unconditionally.

The ghosts are still screaming his name.

She’d told him to make his choice. He doesn’t want to deal with this. He wants to fade back into oblivion, to find her or the drugs again and stay there forever. But he also has hope, she’d said he could help them. He can use his powers to make her happy (and to get a sweet revenge on the ones who tormented him). He can be strong and help lost souls find peace, even if he doesn’t know it for himself.

To be Selfish or to be Selfless?

Freewill is such a drag...but then again, there’s nothing saying he can’t change his mind. He can try to help them, really honestly put some effort into sending them on, and if it doesn’t work, and he can’t do it, can’t stand it, he can lose himself again…and she will love him the same. He can try and slip and try again and nothing will change. He is free to make his own decision, a new decision, one day at a time.

They’re in his face, angry and confused, and how was he alive, how come he wasn’t a ghost like them, where had he gone, why wouldn’t he help them, “help us, help us Klaus, save us, save us, save us OR WE’LL KILL YOU!”

Klaus looks at them with new eyes. They were humans once upon a time, and for one reason or another they had decided to stay behind on Earth, and in making that choice, they had doomed themselves to eternity in prison, able to see the world, but unable to remember, unable to affect anything. And Klaus has the power to release them from that. They are mentally incompetent, restricted by their incorporeal bodies, their lack of life, unable to learn and grow, unable to make a decision for themselves.

Tough love, huh?

How dare they put The Little Girl through such deep sorrow, all for an existence as pale and shallow as this? They aren’t capable of being happy here, stuck in a torment worse than hell. She cannot decide for them, cannot bring herself to take away their freewill. But who is Klaus to care? They exist only in his own warped version of reality, and they’ve tormented him for long enough and will continue to torment him if not stopped.

They ask for his help, and if he doesn’t ask how they want him to help…well, he’s free to interpret it however he wants, isn’t he? It’s not his fault they didn’t specify before he sends them off. He’s a wreck mentally, but his body is healed and even though he’s been locked up for hours, at the least, he’s energized in a way he can’t ever recall being before.

The Little Girl wants him happy and healthy and successful and using his powers to help the world and content in who he is.

He’s not there yet, but here’s as good a place as any to start working towards that goal.

“Heaven help us now.” He whispers, blue glow creeping up his arms, slowly engulfing his entire body.

~~T~U~A~~

“Will you pray for me?” Klaus asks softly, head bowed in the confessional.

He’d been working so hard to control his powers, forcing the spirits he was incapable of helping to the afterlife, while trying to get his father to allow him to help the ones he could. It was easier than he thought it would be. When Reginald had come to retrieve Klaus he’d been silent and unafraid of the ghosts which had haunted him for the better part of his life (because they. Were. Gone. But Reginald didn’t need to know that). It still was hard work, and he wanted Her to know that he was trying. He felt silly praying for himself, trying to communicate to a being who couldn’t speak back to him, so he left the prayers to others.

“Of course, brother. Although I always have, ever since I first saw you passed out in the pews.” Klaus grins a little at the memory. He’d snuck out of the house when he was twelve, gotten some weed laced with something way more than he’d been prepared for, and had taken asylum in the church across town from the academy, fearful of his family (his father) seeing him blitzed out of his mind.

“I’m doing much better than I was back then.” Klaus laughs, even though it’s been less than a year for the priest, and much worse in between than the man could ever imagine.

“I am glad that you have let Him in your life.” A grin spreads across Klaus’ face, but he lets the misconception go.

“Me too, father, me too. Thank you for listening.”

“We are always here to share your burdens. You are never truly alone.” He makes his way out of the church, and joins Diego in his casual lean against the wall.

“I thought you were Agnostic?” Diego asks skeptically, but Klaus can read behind the front and sees his slight amusement and curiosity.

“I am.” He wonders if Diego would be more confused or less, if he knew he’d been to a mosque, a temple and a synagogue this morning. “But asking for a little help never hurts.” Klaus shrugs, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. They may only be thirteen, and it’s totally illegal for Klaus to buy the cancer sticks, but he’d given up every other vice for the time being and he couldn’t bring himself to quit them all.

“If you say so, I’m not sure how much a priest can do for you, but if that’s what you need…” He shrugs, “Let’s go. We’re all waiting on you.”

After the mess he made by misinterpreting God’s words, he’d been working on being more positive and not assuming the worst from his siblings. In that vein, he takes a moment to rationalize his brother’s statement.

It’s a Saturday and their father is out of town on business so he could safely bet good money that Allison and Vanya had convinced Mom and Pogo to let them have the morning to themselves. Which of course lead to Five demanding coffee and Vanya wanted doughnuts and why didn’t they just all meet up at Griddy’s. Except Klaus had already left for the morning and someone had to track him down and Diego drew the short straw, apparently.

Klaus grunts and pushes off the wall to follow his brother. Dying had opened his eyes to how his own bias twisted his perception of reality. He’d let his own negativity project onto his sibling’s actions, without knowing if that was what they were feeling towards him or not.

Now that he has an example, the fact that his siblings love him is undeniable, they may not like him all that much, but he’s working on changing that too.

One day at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a Kudo or drop a comment to let me know what you think!


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